Poetry by Goirick Brahmachari: ‘Your absence floats in / Within my house of shadows, / And stale miseries, / Broken windows; breezing in / Lost islands of fog and snow.’

Poetry by Ajanta Paul: ‘If Bangla is the resonance / of raindrops on the soul / English is the petrichor / of poetry that emanates from / the rain-moistened earth / of my being.’

Poetry is a prayerful medium to explore complex, living concepts. Just as fruit falls from the bough to decay within earth and feed the tree, Rajorshi Patranabis’s presents the ritual of cyclical love and devotion in his new collection. By Dustin Pickering

Poet, author, and translator Snehaprava Das speaks to Mitra Samal about her storytelling process, how translation can enhance creativity, the authors that have inspired her, and more.  

Poetry by K.S. Subramanian: ‘In a year its ambience malodorous / Inch of space making way to concrete. / Green unseated by thick red brick’

Extract from the work of Mir Taqi Mir: Mir’s poetry abounds in bawdiness, the pain and enjoyment of life, instances of homosexuality, Sufi themes, close and wise observation of the world, and insistence on man’s dignity. Translated by: Shamsur Rahman Faruqi

Poetry by Tabish Nawaz: ‘I breath to fluidize the gravels / but they fall back / like the debris in a city / bombed for months.’

The ecopoems in Gopal Lahiri’s Anemone Morning delve into a kind of exploratory myth that engages readers with creative potential, stressing that there could be no division between who we are and where we are. By Dustin Pickering

Poetry by Sambhu R.: ‘Our reflections walk out of mirrors, / ashamed to take on / the semblance of our sinister shapes’

Poetry by Ankush Banerjee: ‘Before anaesthesia shatters / the bough of your body, before the / moon overhead is a mouth of darkness, you / pray they fill the space between dislocated hip / & future with what you heard but / could never hold’

Poetry by Mrittika Chatterjee: ‘Windows cradle the world’s weight— / concerns, french braided, / but strands, a newly freed tribe. / Steering wheel clutched, / as if holding an inner child’

Poetry by Carol D’Souza: ‘An armour is only the skin / that has learned / that there is no such thing /
as face value / The prudent trick / of seeming like a free-flowing ditty / from within’